POETRY
BY POET IN RESIDENCE, TAMAR ZHGHENTI: DECEMBER 2025
POETRY
It begins with feeling slightly sick—
the kind of nausea caused by swallowing a sun.
Not the largest star, of course,
but still inconvenient for the stomach.
First, open your mouth,
look the light in the face,
extend your tongue,
and take the sun whole—
the way a frog might snatch a passing glowworm.
It burns, yes.
That’s part of the arrangement.
People will doubt your stomach
can hold such matter.
Let them.
You know there’s room.
Anyone who has swallowed tears
has space enough
for greater fires.
The sun, once tasted, becomes ordinary food.
It goes down like anything else—
corn, mustard, yolk.
But later—
and it never fails—
the sun turns in you.
It troubles the gut.
It asks to be returned.
Bless that ache.
Bless the fiery uprush.
What rises then is not failure—
only light.
Effervesce!
DECEMBER 2025
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